Swift Circumstance
by Mayflower
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer - I DO NOT own ANY PART of the Star Wars galaxy. o.o In case I didn't make that clear enough.... I DO NOT OWN ANY PART OF THE STAR WARS GALAXY. EVERYTHING is based on the universe created by George Lucas himself. I do not intend on using this to make money - this is just for FUN.**

**Author's Note - Well. Here it is. A good three weeks in the making. +_+;; If you're wondering about the relevence of this story to the events that happen in the latter Trilogy - there is none. o.o' I've just basically written about the background of my roleplay character, Ka'Anor. And no, I did -not- realise the name was already used in some other series, (Discworld or something) it came off the top of my brain at the time.**

There are only a vague group of people I should thank, and that is a very small, select group of people that actually roleplay Star Wars on Neopets. Even then, timezones and such prevent us from doing so on a regular basis.

Poppy (xwolfsspiritx) and others like sapphirespike, forte, seki, etc -  Just because we've written a few sentences together doesn't mean a THING. O_o'

**Swift Circumstance.**

Impotence

_So this is what a sandstorm's like._

A fiery tempest had pronounced the fate of the trifling homesteads that lined the outskirts of Mos Espa. Billowing winds ravaged the perilous landscape with no mercy; Tatooine's neutrally brown sands were scooped up and hurled into the air, producing a cloud so dense it would be impossible for any living creature to sustain life for little more than a few moments.  

There was so sign at all the it was otherwise a perfectly fine day - sunshine, humidity far above anybody's expectations. Much to her disappointment, of course. She had around five minutes left to enjoy the scenery. And yet, enjoy was not the right word for when submitting to such a forced exercise... 

A stifled cough echoed miserably through the dank cell. It's foul, rot-covered walls were thick enough to keep the frigid cold in, and keep unruly slaves from getting out. Even the womp rats were lining up just outside the doorway, earnestly trying to get inside where the conditions were perfect. A single pillar, thoroughly disfigured over its prolonged life, positioned carefully in the center of the cell, held the reins of a youth. An unruly youth, according to the Lord of the Estate. She didn't think so. Clutching the icy chain in one hand, the slight girl made a second feeble attempt to free herself of the heavy burden.

Further and further onwards she persevered, towards the light, all the while gingerly shifting the durasteel clasp around her neck so as not to hurt herself. Pain was inevitable, though, and a sharp stab in the back of her neck made her recoil instantly; the fact that she had very nearly choked herself on her last effort kept her wary. She sighed, and peered longingly out the narrow slit in the wall that had been nominated as a window, a viewing deck. Her verdant features were a sickly shade of green, not only indicitive of her poor health, but of the girl's species. She was still considered to be a child on her homeworld, Ryloth. But the days had gone by so slowly she could no longer count the hours, months, years that she had been fated to this oppressive hell-hole, and thrown in such scant garments that, if not for her tradtional lack of modesty, wouldn't have even been regarded as clothing.

 _Footsteps... _

The girl let out a low gasp and scurried behind the grand old pillar; it's base was wide enough for her to safely hide behind for the time being. Her eyes fluttered closed, serpant like lekkus twitching anxiously.

_What if it was the Master?_

Several dull metallic 'clunk's resounded hollowly, sending a sharp thrill up her spine. The girl chose not to answer. He would only let himself in, anyway. She would not give him the pleasure of knowing she was suffering. A long silence fell after that, she was positive the storm had died down. She relaxed slightly. Perhaps he'd gone. It might have even been someone dropping something as they passed...

_Unlikely. _

"Ka'Anor."

She jumped. Her heart beating wildly, the girl wrenched an eye open, and found herself face to face with another of her kind. A Twi'lek. The man's gleaming red eyes bored into the youth's vague grey ones. In startling contrast to her own dusky green features, his skin was a pasty salmon. 

"Come with me, young one." He sneered with a heavy accent, and grabbed her by the wrist. The girl named Ka'Anor flinched. His talon-like claws dug deep into her supple flesh. With a derisive snort, the man gestured to a pair unseen behind her - Gammorean guards, most likely. A slight inclination of her head confirmed their identities. Only a feint jingle of keys could be heard before the boar-like creatures set her loose with a loud clank. Any attempts to escape would have been futile, as the Twi'lek male had seized her shackles in the blink of an eye. Ka'Anor allowed herself to sigh heavily. She would have given anything to be rid of these chains. A feral grin from her captor suggested that she had already admitted defeat.

_Damn. _

Sick of these mind games, Ka'Anor bit her lip, and shot the man a dark look. His eyes were narrowed to slits; a malevolent glare was thrown back. She would pay for her impertinence soon enough.

He had to practically drag her through the maze-like passageways that lead into the main chamber. Creatures of all sorts lined the way, many casting Ka'Anor looks of utter disdain. Others leered. There was even the occasional catcall. How he'd pay later on.

A blast of foul air sought her nostrils, and she shuddered. The main chamber was packed with shrewd, underhanded creatures who had paid a large amount of truggarts to attend this extravagant affair. A thick blanket of smoke covered the room, allowing it's occupants to go about their business in relative peace, it's dim lighting allowed minor acts of dishonesty to go unnoticed.

And there, right before her eyes, sat the Lord, in all his adulterated glory. So fat he had to be seated on a platform rather than in a conventional chair or stool, so hideous naught but his own kind could adore him, and so rich that even his golbets were of a precious metal that was unrecognisable on first glance.

The vile servant, as he so clearly was now, held her restraint, keeping her at close hand, until they were so deliberately handed over to the Aristocrat.

Ka'Anor's face screwed up as the Lord brought her closer and closer to his bloated head. His breath was worse than the putrid gases lurking around the mine fields of her homeworld. Thankfully, he forced her aside at the last minute, preoccupied with another petty matter. She could hardly contain her relief.

So she grudgingly knelt by his side, scanning her bleak enviroment with idle comtempt. Almost every species you could think of had congregated in this fairly large chamber. Ithorians, Humans, Sullustians, Aqualish, Rodians - she even thought she spied a Bothan lurking about the bar area. Ka'Anor's attempts to delve into thought were cut short when she heard some movement behind her. Her attention returned to her Lord. Her eyes did not.

The Twi'lek servant stumbled out of the darkness to the rear of her. He cleared his throat loudly - it was all that was needed to ensnare the crowd's attention. A thousand or so eyes fell on ... _no, not me, the idiot behind me ... , and an anticipating silence soon followed._

The corpulent being grumbled a broken sentence or two, far too busy chewing to be bothered speaking properly. The servant didn't seem to notice, as he clapped his hands together, and announced shortly, "My master bids you welcome to his humble palace, " at this, Ka'Anor snorted, " and introduces you once more to the Max Rebo band. As some extra entertainment, he has brought out Oola, Yarna, along with Ka'Anor for your enjoyment." 

_Your enjoyment. His enjoyment, more like. Disgusting. _

The crowd erupted in cheers and jeers. A trio of Bimms begun to play a spirited number, before the rest of the band joined in. The lively atmosphere was enough to make her sick. In fact, it very nearly did.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of familiar faces emerging from the hallway to her left. Oola, she mused, smiling feintly, looked more confident than ever. Head held high, her closest friend sauntered onto the dance floor. She took the humility head on. After all, she was the Lord's favourite; the woman had to have some dignity. Just like her and the man she met previously, Oola was a Twi'lek. She even had the same coloured skin as Ka'Anor, which meant that there was probably some distant connection tracing back many generations.

_Possibly... _

Following Oola, a larger woman. Shorter and stockier than her counterpart, Yarna D'al was certainly humanoid, however her adipose figure, her six breasts, and her horrifically contorted features altered one's perception of her species. Later, upon inquiry, Ka'Anor had discovered she was Askajian. She had found out the hard way that D'al was a hardened criminal, and was to be avioded as much as possible. Her nose crinkled as she regarded her willing colleague with great dislike.

A painful tug of the elongated chain that bound Ka'Anor to the platform brought her out of her musings. It was her turn to go next. Unwillingly pulled to her feet, she stood still in defiance, folding her arms accordingly. An outburst of slurred howls from the far side of the chamber, all but ruining the zealous pace the band had worked so hard to produce, interrupted the procession. The Master's lamplike eyes widened to the size of small rock pools. "Chu pasa!" He boomed, backhanding the male Twi'lek that stood at his side. The servant promptly scurried forth, and thrust the girl down the stairs. "_Dance!" He hissed, shooeing her irritably._

Ka'Anor blanched. She'd rather die than dance for Jabba the Hutt again.


	2. A Grim Encounter

A Grim Encounter

"Cheer up Darlin'."

"Hm? Oh..." Ka'Anor glanced up, and flashed a feint smile. She had been doing the rounds for a couple of hours now, and had grown weary of the endless flow of patrons. At present she stood behind the bar serving drinks to those who occupied the stools directly opposite her, conversing half-heartedly with those who could barely string a coherent sentence together let alone stand or, in this case those that could, though she held a sneaking suspicion about this man.

"It's not the end of the world, lass. Not your fault either, if it is." He said firmly, swiftly raising the crystalline tankard to his mouth. As if to point out the obvious, he nodded in the direction of the table behind her, slowly filling with what looked like a family of Bimms. "Go on, then."

"I will when I'm ready." She said politely, though she was beginning to wonder what on earth a family would be doing in a place like this. The main sail barge was not known for it's family atmosphere. 

The man grinned lop-sidedly, nodding to a Bothan male two seats down. The Bothan was facing the other way, conversing in undertones with a dumpy-looking Sullustian. "Your pretty female friend here gave me this trinket to have a look at. Seems t' be some sort of sling ..."  Sure enough, a small ornately decorated piece of tubing lay idle on the bench before him. Ka'Anor immediately identified it as an empty shaft of a poison dart. He set down his drink only long enough to hold it up for her to glimpse. "D'you want to try?"

Her eyes widened. "I'm going to... go and ... serve now..." She said slowly, edging away as she spoke.

"If you wish." He blinked slowly, shrugged it off, and went back to his drink.

She had only managed to get a few feet when the man changed his mind.

"Wait-" He called, a great deal louder than both he and she had expected.

The Twi'lek jumped several feet in the air, her serving tray clattering to the floor in the process.

Cursing profusely, Ka'Anor knelt down and gingerly picked up the cloth that had resided next to the meal. To her relief it was still dry.

The days of her dancing were long considered over. Her pale eyes focused on the back of her hand as she wiped the mess up. Small whelp marks were all that remained of her wounds, almost healed eleven years after the brutal punishment she had received from the Gamorrean guards. it was because of her blatant refusal to entertain the demanding crimelord, and on reflection she considered herself lucky - the rancor was an option she had only thought of after her actions and according to Oola many others had been fated to the beast for lesser crimes. The sail barge had been her refuge for the past two years or so ... The lower order supervisors grew far more lenient as time went by, to the point where as long as she was shackled up and in their line of sight, she was fine. Ka'Anor's gaze then wandered to her wrist. 

She bore a rusty metallic bond on her left arm, and a single thin (not necessarily weak) chain bound her to the moisture coolant that had been bolted in place in the centre of the serving area.

"Need help?" The man towered over her possibly for the first and last time, as he himself was quite short, even for human standards.

"I-I'm fine..." She muttered with a vague smile. Although she was still a little shaky, she managed to gather everything into a small pile quickly enough.

"No you're not." He said, in an almost annoyingly cheerful way. "Don't worry about that. I'll try and get someone else to clean it up."

She sighed, and conceded defeat. He didn't understand, but she really didn't feel like arguing. 

"The name's Surt Luier." He said, holding out a hand in offer to help her up.

Graciously taken, Ka'Anor brushed herself off. She introduced herself quickly, and hurried back to the bar. She could have sworn the crowd had grown tenfold, judging by the number of eyes staring expectantly back at her. Surt on the other hand stood back and watched her, hiding a small smile behind his hand.

***

"Don't you _ever speak to me like that again." _

"I can speak however I want to whoever I want, Dungbrains."

Dungbrains giggled despite himself. Perhaps the intensity of the conversation had proved too much for the male humanoid. His dirty, unshaven face was a shade paler than white, though he sounded more alive than the spritely dancers performing down the corridor. The Devorian at his side grunted impatiently.

"You haven't been at our stocks again, have you Ryfe?" A second human, Ohra Julhed, chortled, clapping Dungbrain's leather-clad shoulder appreciatively. He too was in dire need of a break. Around him, his friends, his colleagues he had known for years and years were at their wits end. Ohra, Ryfe, Conu, Jiper, Buu, Freid, Y'rrti and a rusty old R4 unit filled the festering durasteel hallway, stuck for a conclusion, a resolution, a consequence of their actions. Three humans, two rodians, a devorian and an aqualish each vehemently against the other for their own selfish reasons. The Uhr brotherhood was easily a corrupt one.

"Dungbrains." The Rodian Jiper corrected sourly, his thick accent slurring his speech. "You are the reason why I loathe humans. If you would've gotten your stinking hands out of the cargo and concentrated, we could have been here years ago. But no, you had to keep the decision from us 'til -now- because of your petty excuses. I doubt it matters anymore. Half the load's gone, and he's probably forgotten all about us."

"Don't get too hopeful." Ohra sighed. "I don't see why we bothered to come back. It's pretty damn obvious no one here wants to return it. We have the money, why don't we go buy ourselves a planet on the other side of the galaxy and go into hiding?" 

"I don't mind. Twelve galactic organisations are after my neck, I hold the death penalty in nine systems, and am wanted by no fewer than two dozen bounty hunters." Interrupted Freid with a shrug. "So can we get this over and done with, or what?"

"No. I say we return what's left of the stuff and beg for mercy." The Aqualish youth piped up. He was shorter than the others, but his morals had become clearer and clearer as the conversation had progressed. This didn't stop him from being ignored, though.

Ryfe snorted, swaying gently as he stood. "We just... stay. And wait. I, " He hiccupped, "- don't think he'll mind, really...." Misty-eyed, his gaze wandered away from the conversation. He snickered faintly to himself, observing something unseen to all on the wall.

"You disgust me. You really do." Jiper rolled his eyes. "Spice-hoarding, no good..." He trailed off muttering insults in his native language.

Ryfe's spout of laughter stopped abruptly. He turned on his heel, grabbed a handful of the Rodian's shirt, and pulled him in so his nose almost touched the hook-like proboscis of the other. Clearing his throat, the man's eyes focused and unfocused in the blink of an eye. "I said... don't you mess with me, s-son of a.." 

With a deafening _clash Jiper hit the durasteel wall and slumped to the floor. Grinning ferally, Ryfe clamped both hands on his utility belt, and leered down at his opponent, triumphant. The others stared, more shocked than anything else. They were pretty much used to the binges their colleague indulged in, but this was different - he had never really become violent, and now, there were too many things at stake to pay him too much concern._

"I said don't you mess with me!" He cried, swaying dangerously as he took half a step back. But Ryfe no longer had an audience. The room's attention seemed to be fixed far off down the corridor. They could see something he couldn't. Slowly, the artificially dilated pupils of his eyes shifted towards the light. His jaw dropped.

There was, all of a sudden, barely any light to behold as two squat figures lumbered into view. Gammoreans.

"Holy f-"

A meaningful cough came from his side of the passageway.

"-ather of us all. What the hell is going on here?" Ryfe looked as suspicious as one could be while being thrown back down to earth. This meeting had certainly taken an unexpected turn - possibly for the worst. Make that almost definitely.

The pair's porcine features broke into similar expressions of vainglorious delight, and they knew at once this was going to be no friendly encounter.

Ryfe's gulp didn't do so much as echo in the hollow silence.

***

"So." Surt said, breaking the long, awkward silence that had worked it's way inside the barge, and found him at once. He was staring absently at the cobalt blue of the bench-top, tracing a short, stubby finger along the stains that lined the surface.

"So." Ka'Anor echoed amiably. She had given up her job completely. In place of her, she had sent a droid out to serve the customers, and programmed another to do the rest of the cleaning. Her seat was still behind the bar; shackles around her wrist prevented her from straying too far from the bar room, and she'd prefer to keep it safe.

"The Empire seems to have affected very little of this society." He said quietly, shifting in his seat. Two locks of his scruffy black hair fell over his eyes, casting soft shadows over his thoughtful brow.

She shrugged. "No, but then the Old Republic's power didn't really reach this far out, either. I've heard some pretty gruesome stories about the Empire, tall tales or no." At this point in the conversation, her voice lowered. Imperial deployments had been an increasingly common sight these days, investigating random premises' for reasons unknown. There was a lot of speculation over this, but Mos Eisley's inhabitants liked to speculate. "Shameful, some of the things that I've heard. But it's not like life's changed much. There's always been the 'eat or be eaten' attitude. Just look at what we've got for a leader."

"But violence, violence is a subjective thing, don't you think?" He asked earnestly, working his thumb hard against the plasteel surface of the table. The layer of paint that had been applied had thinned in it's old age, and was coming off easily.

"What do you mean?" Ka'Anor frowned, and turned in her seat to face him properly.

"Just ... I wouldn't really call this- well, I would, but you know what I mean. This violence you're talking about that occurs around here - I wouldn't call it serious. It's more... petty." He was squirming in his seat, trying desperately to form a clearer sentence. "The crimes committed by the Empire ... have been, and still are so ... severe...? Did you hear about the destruction of Alderaan? That was ... I don't even have a word to describe how disgustingly heartless it was. They drove the Jedi Order to extinction long ago ... when I was only a few years old. You get my picture..?" 

"You're not from around here." Her observation was sudden, and came not without a slight tilt of the head.

His eyebrows shot up, gaze quickly following suit.

She chuckled. "No need to get all alarmed. It's not -that- uncommon to find you people here, really. Why the face?"

Surt must have just noticed his rather comical expression, as he quickly looked down again. "Never mind." He mumbled, feeling distinctly hot in the face. _God, soon you'll be blurting out your life story, he thought scornfully, __maybe it's the cheap beer._

"...alright." Brows creasing in mild concern, Ka'Anor watched Surt push his tankard forward. "I just recognised your clothing, that's all."

"Huh? What about it?" 

She laughed again. "Isn't it obvious? Look at everyone around you. Why, you look like an old Nubian Senator compared to the characters we have lurking around here."

"I could have been on a long trip." He suggested. "I might have gone as far as Duros."

"I doubt it..."

"I don't. After all, it was my money that went down the proverbial drain." 

She rolled her eyes. "You really are difficult, aren't you?"

He smiled a small, knowing smile. "I'm merely stating the facts, dear"

"Oh, and another thing."

"Mm?" He leaned in slightly, curious.

"Don't start calling me dear. You sound like a drunkard."

If he wasn't already ruddy-faced from his alcohol intake, she would have noticed him flush. But something else had caught her eye more readily.

"Hello.." She murmured, squinting over the mass of bodies on her toes - someone had made a discreetly grand entrance.

***

Bib Fortuna slinked into the chamber, cautiously eyeing his master as he skirted all the way around the crowd to position himself at an ample viewing point. He was pleased to note the a silence of anticipation that had met him upon entry. If he concentrated, he could make out the fuzzy outline of the motley crew arguing fiercely amongst themselves and with the guards through the rusty louvres. 

Weirnt's had been one of Jabba the Hutts worst choices, in his opinion. Not once did he ever get quality work from this group of hooligans. He had heard of other missions (though Fortuna would have hardly called them so), simple tasks that had been dealt with in the same rude, uncaring fashion. But Fortuna never thought it would have gotten to this. Stealing? That was not the half of it. They were crude, clumsy, not to mention arrogant, lazy, and were deliberately late. Qualities that were not favourable in this business. Or so he would have thought, as Wiernt's was one of the most prolific operations in the Mid to Outer Rim. He thought it rather lax on his Lord's part for trusting them in the first place, paying them hundreds upon thousands of truggarts beforehand rather than when the (did he mention they were simple?) task had been completed. He should have known. But then again, the Hutt's were not always known for their intelligence. That is why, Fortuna assumed, he needed someone like himself around.

Fortuna shot his master a quizzical glance, a quick check before going through with the proceedings.

Jabba nodded his large bulbous head as best he could considering his lack of neck.

"Get rid of them!" He hissed.

***

"Damn that infernal racket." If Ohra could have blocked his ears, he would have. If he could have located and dealt with the idiot that had originally been assigned this job, he would have. If he would have listened to his orders correctly, he wouldn't be here. Pity, his hands were tied firmly behind his back, there was no hope in hell he had the money or patience to do such a thing, and Ryfe had been (and still was) an absolute pain in the arse.

"Tell me about it." Conu muttered darkly, flanked on the platform to his right.

Ohra could clearly picture the amused look on the Weequay enforcer's face behind him. He grunted. Seven years ago, he could have gotten this over and done with. 

Trinke-spores he knew, were extracts from the powder of a Lithius sapling. These stout trees were once revered for their healing properties by a Mid-Rim planet (he had forgotten the exact name; it was possibly Kashyykk or Mykyr), but with the evolution of the Old Republic, citizens were intermixing, and the galaxy had become a melting pot of species, cultures, and technologies. The Trinke-spore was almost instantly re-discovered by settlers, and in turn exploited as a narcotic by several powerful interplanetary corporations. It's career as a legal substance was short and sweet thanks to some of the last remnants of the Old Republic's justice system, and with illegibility came demand. With demand came big bucks for people like Ohra. 

He could hear in the background the once melodic voices of Jiper and Buu, now ugly and strained, trying to compete with the livid guards that had surrounded them. Y'rrti was being harassed by a pair of burly Gamorreans who had taken up poking him with their spear-like weapons, and Freid was fiercely debating the relevance of destroying his R4 unit to this exercise with a frustrated supervisor. Ohra didn't need convincing to understand he was doing it out of spite. Ryfe was staring bemusedly down the exposed belly of the Sarlacc, beady eyes glazed over once more.

The Uhr Brotherhood had crumbled long ago, and Ohra cursed himself for not realising this sooner. It was not only him that layed the blame squarely on the shoulders of their foolish comrade Ryfe Sniwal. 

 "Our buddy here seems to have calmed down." Conu observed dryly, jerking his head towards Ryfe.

"Ah-" Ohra's attention had wandered from the back of the spiced-up human's head to the main sail barge. "I think we're in trouble, 'Nu."

Excited hushes pierced through the dense cloud of noise encompassing them. The victims were silenced further by a series of prods, a motion received with no small amounts of contempt.

Ohra's gaze followed the prolonged shadows of the afternoon along the trackless sand banks before him. From what he could gather (and he gathered this rather stupidly), the Aqualish was soon to be the first to die.

"No! No! Let me go! I wasn't out! I wasn't involved! They made m-" Y'rrti was the first to go, prodded sharply in the back by the guard. His desperate pleas were cut off by a harsh scream, and eventually a sickening _thud as he ricoched down the filter shaped pit into the open jaws of the sluggishly enthusiastic Sarlacc._

Ohra was gobsmacked. Frozen steady on his platform, his vivid green eyes stared blankly down the tunnel fate would soon lead him. Soon, not now. He could hear Buu on his left pleading so colourfully only words of his native language could substitute.

"G'Bye, sucker." Ryfe sneered, acknowledging his former arch-rival with a lazy salute. He seemed to think he was going to get out of there scott free.

Ohra turned his head just in time to catch the movement. Rather than give up straight away, the Rodian seemed to have taken on a more brash attitude and had gotten physical. He wrestled savagely with his guard all the way to the end of his platform. In a tangle of limbs they plunged to their death. Almost. A juicy _crunch made Ohra wince as the human guard had just barely managed to grip the edge of the platform by the tips of his bony fingers. Not soon after he heard a feint, "__Help!" It was Jiper. Ohra's stomach almost did a flip. No, Buu was still safe. Not all that much of a consolation considering._

A pair of Gammoreans scuttled to his supposed aid, and with deep throaty snorts of laughter put the poor man out of his misery by wrenching his hands loose of the edge. 

The human guard screeched a curse that lingered in the dry air as he hurtled to his death.

***

The barge's occupants were unsettled. The silence said it all. Criminals, common thieves, swindlers, rogues and rebels gave way to the restlessness, excitement, eager anticipation of Jabba the Hutt's closest cohorts. 

The shrill, heartless giggle of Salacious Crumb drew the audience's attention back to the room itself, and back to Fortuna who had opened his mouth to speak once again. The court jester was widely known for his ear-splitting voice, and most agreed that it was heard far too often.

"My master expresses his displeasure at the pace this operation is being executed. He wishes for them all to die at once." He might have been suggesting a mistake in an artwork for all he cared. Pun and all, with the impatient wave of a hand Bib Fortuna let the servants get on with it, "Continue."

***__

They were counting! With eyes the size of the barge's serving platters, Ohra looked wildly about, trying to think of something. If only he had time to _think. This was stupid. Unfair, hopeless, and morbid._

" ... eight .... seven .... six ... "

Ryfe. Ryfe was _laughing at them. Ohra screwed his face up in disgust. The fool had no dignity after all._

"... five .... four ..."

Sniwal stomped and whirled around, grinning his wild, maniac grin.

"Y-you're all going to-" "-three-" "- to DIE!" He crowed, gesturing animatedly to his part-time friends. First to the remaining Rodian, then danced in a circle to do the same to the Devorian and humans.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ohra saw Conu and Freid exchange dry looks and shrug. They knew they were going to die. So what? He was too. Buu on the other hand had turned into a nervous wreck, wailing freely.

"... two ..."

An indeterminable noise buzzed loudly in his ears, he could feel the tip of a spear hovering about his back. Ohra's eyes fluttered closed for half a moment, working furiously to remain calm. His conclusion had struck him a hard blow; he was unable to do anything other than wait. Except maybe...

"... one ..."

It was all he could do. Seething, he caught Ryfe's eye just in the nick of time and mouthed, "May your death be slow and cunning, sithspawn."

"_Now!"_

***

They deserved it. All of them. With a shrewd smirk, Fortuna took a step back from the viewing ports and returned to business.

***

The victims' shrieks of horror drowned out the loud, monotonous drone of the moisture coolant beside her. Ka'Anor winced. No matter how many times she had heard bloodcurdling screams of helplessness and terror, the desperate pleas for mercy, and the erratic sobs that soon followed, she had never gotten used to it. It disturbed her greatly, the knowledge that previous acquaintances, friends (though she'd hate to admit it) even, were still being digested somewhere in the depths of the Sarlacc's belly.

She looked to Surt. He had his eyes downcast. _Poor bastard probably hasn't seen an execution before. No matter what he had said, she knew that he was an outsider. He seemed to hold a slight aristocratic air about him, and everybody knew that this was a far from civilised planet. She knew it, they knew it, why didn't he? It was a lame attempt at being sneaky, yes. But what was he after? No one these days entered Jabba's territory without sufficient evidence of business being performed. Fortuna didn't allow it. The rise of the Empire had must of had more of an effect on the Outer Rim than the Lord had expected.___

Ka'Anor lingered around the bar long enough to hear Surt mutter to himself, "It's not the end of the world."


End file.
